History

Is the shame I wear truly my own?

We did not tell until long after it began.

Being ten is hard

In small town southern areas.

He was supposed to protect us.

He was supposed to be trust worthy.

Five years older, our brother, a monster.

My twin sister cried, head in my lap.

He made sure we both had scars.

Am I culpable? He said I was.

Did I bring it on myself?

Even if I know his words are false,

My brain torments me with questions.

Why didn't I fight harder?

(Because he hit harder!)

Why didn't I tell sooner?

(He said he would kill you!)

Why didn't I run away?

(Run where exactly!?)

Wishing these things would vanish,

It just isn't enough.

Nightmares, flight or fight and shutting down.

Years of pain, shame and fear.

I am trying to stand back up.

I am trying to find my voice.

I am exhausted from the fight.

My twin...

Lost her footing.

Lost her mind.

We held each other's hands, tightly.

Never let go. We shared the pain.

But our defense was different.

Our hands began to slip apart.

She fell off the edge and I couldn't hold her.

Were we altered entirely by our history?